The Brigand and the Beast
by TreeWithoutWood
Summary: She isn't the hero the world thinks she is. He isn't the beast the world thinks he is. While crushing skulls for the Dragonborn he learns things about her the world would never dare to guess, and little bit about himself on the way too. Ghorbash/FDragonborn.
1. Chapter 1

This story was partly inspired by FancyLadySnakeCakes's 'Two Bastards and a Dog', if you haven't read that story go read it, it's brilliant. And also partly inspired by an old save file of mine, where I coerced a certain orc into joining me on my travels across Skyrim, he quickly became my favourite follower.

* * *

The Brigand and the Beast

**Chapter 1**

He was small when he was born, weak and mewling like some pup. As he had breathed his first breath, his mother breathed her last. His father would have left him out in the highlands for the wolves to take, for the crimes of being a runt and for taking his mother's life. But the wise woman had begged Urag to keep his second son, the Chief had looked upon his youngest child with disgust while Ghorbash had howled in the wet nurse's arms. Urag allowed him to live. He had been merciful that day. As he had grown from a babe to a child, Ghorbash had quickly learnt that he would always be second in his father's eyes to his old brother. Urag had always been harsher in his words to Ghorbash, always eyed him with a looked laced with annoyance and disgust. He was always the one to bear the brunt of his father's anger, his brother always received the praise. Whilst he had always received scorn. At the age of eight his father had him start learning swordsmanship, and of course he was always pitted against his old, stronger, quicker brother.

His brother was good to him, kind to him. He was always the first to praise him on his swordsmanship or his forge work, always the first to dust bloody grubby knees, always the first to dry fat tears. Burguk was his greatest supporter, ally and friend. He was always there to sooth him after their father's words cut him. Always greeted him with a tusked smile. He loved his brother dearly, but still he could not stop himself from resenting him, hating him for always receiving his father's praise. For always being stronger, quicker, smarter. Better.

It had been a normal sparring session with their father watching them both critically, and of course Burguk had won. His father simply grunted with unsurprised disappointment when his second son had fallen sprawled in the dirt, a wooden sword levelled at his neck. Ghorbash ran from the stronghold that day, his hands bloody and his eyes hot and wet with embarrassment and indignation. He wondered in the wilderness until the sun had sunken beneath the horizon, he tried to double back to return back to the stronghold, but realised he was lost. After hours of walking in circles the little orc lay down on the ground, huddled into a ball, and sobbed while the wolves howled. He knew his father would not send a search party to find him, he would let him die. The little orc was not sure how long he lay upon the cold earth, but when the sky and began to turn pink he heard a sound in the thicket. At first he though it was the wolves coming to eat him, he desperately scrabbled back across the dusty earth whilst spluttering and sobbing, only for his brother to step out of the thicket.

His brother was thick with dirt and full of digs and bumps from walking through the wilderness all night in search of his little brother. Burguk held him in a suffocating embrace until his littler brother's sobs of joy and subsided to soft sniffles. They walked back to the stronghold the littler orc holding onto his big brother's large hand tightly, a slight skip in his step. After a while of silence the happy skip in Ghorbash's step faltered as he realised something. ''Father's going to be furious.'' He said in a small voice. His brother was quiet for a moment before he finally said. ''Father will be relieved to see you are alive.'' Ghorbash's bottom lip curled against the two pearly nubs of growing tusks, his brow lowered and scrunched together. ''No he won't.'' Burguk sighed heavily and stopped them both, he turned to his little brother.

''I now it's hard for you to see it, but Father does loves you.''

''No he doesn't, he only loves you.'' His brother's eyes were full of concern, slowly a corner of his lip lifted as a thought struck him.

''Do you want to know a secret?'' The little orc's brow was still pinched but he nodded his head, his curiosity getting the better of him. Burguk bent forward to his little brother's ear and whispered. ''When no one else is around, when it's just me and Father, he only talks about you. About how much you're improving and strong you've become.''

''Really?'' His small flint eyes bright. Burguk nodded and gave him a kind tusked smile.

''Then why is he so hard on me?''

''Because it his way.'' Burguk sighed ''He just pushes you so you do your best.''

They walked on again, in silence for a long time. Ghorbash worried at his bottom lip, as thought that had plagued him for as long as he could remember rolled about in his head.

''Do you think Father is so harsh on me because I killed Mother?''

Burguk was quiet for a long time before he finally answered. ''I do not know little brother.''

When the returned Ghorbash had expected his father to shout at him until the Longhouse had been reduced to rubble, the towering mass of orc and marched towards his two sons and had raised his hand. Ghorbash had flinched expecting to be struck, only for his father's large rough hand to fall gently on the top his head. A surprisingly tender gesture. Later that day in his room in the Longhouse Burguk tended to Ghorbash's scrapes and cuts. The older boy smeared a foul smelling paste across his weeping knee, Ghorbash flinched at the stinging pain but Burguk held him firmly so he didn't move.

''Ghorbash, do you hate me?'' He flinched at the sudden question, his brother's eyes were unreadable as he watched him, waiting for an answer. Ghorbash could not bring himself to tell the truth and so looked away and refused to speak. The silence was telling. ''It's alright if you do.'' His brother continued, his expression still unreadable. ''We're brothers, that makes us rivals,'' Burguk gently wrapped a piece of bandage around his brother's knee. ''and also friends.'' He tied a tight knot to secure the bandage. He then sat beside his little brother on the bed. ''When we're older we will have to fight each other to become Chief, one of us will kill the other.'' A terrified lump formed in Ghorbash's throat, he struggled to swallow his fear. His brother turned to him, with that lopsided tusked smile. ''But, remember I'll always be your big brother, I'll always be your friend. I'll always be there to protect you.''

* * *

As time passed Ghorbash grew. His tusks became sharper and longer, but they were still smaller than his brother's. He grew in height and became a gangly built teenager, it would take a few more years before he filled out and became thick and solid with muscle. At the age of fifteen he was taller than the Nord hunters that occasionally wondered near to the stronghold, but he was still smaller than his brother. With age came the sudden interest in the opposite sex, which was a problem. In the stronghold only the Chief had the right to bed the women, that way if any child was conceived it was assured that the child had the strongest genes and those genes would carry onto the next generation. In short, the Chief could happily screw his wives, or any consenting woman for that matter, while the rest of the tribe was forcibly celibate.

This might have been less of a problem for Ghorbash had Gnarl not joined the stronghold some years before. He had paid little attention to her then, she had moved into the tribe with her mother, they had been vagrants or something, he hadn't paid much attention he had been a child after all. But as the years had passed she had grown into a handsome creature with two delicate fine tusks, brilliant clear blue eyes, full breast and long legs. She had quickly grown into a superb hunter, despite her young age she quickly became the leader of the hunt. One summers day Gnarl approached him about joining her on the hunt, he had agreed before she could finish asking.

They had done well, he was clever with a bow, she had been surprised at his skill. He had momentarily bristled at that, she had presumed him to be weak. He soon forgot about his anger however. They sat beneath a juniper tree their kills lying beside them, she was so close he could feel her heat. His eyes followed the hoop of gold than hung from her ear down her neck. She turned to him suddenly her fully lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something but had reconsidered.

''What?'' He asked her, his voice was a thick gravelling sound now.

''I've never been this close to a man before.'' She watched him for his response, her mossy cheeks blooming with red. Pride filled him momentarily, she had called him a man. Not a boy, a man. ''I've never been this close to a woman.'' A small beautiful grin pulled at her lips. He couldn't help himself. He kissed her then, she was surprised but eagerly returned the embrace. They were both stupid and arrogant with their youth. It was a mindless thing to do, but they ended up screwing under that juniper tree.

Months passed, and the two young lovers kept their routine of going on the hunt and laying with each other. And all were none the wiser. They hoped.

They lay on the earth side by side, panting their bodies slick with sweat. He watched her, she was beautiful, his eyes ran the across the contours of her face. Down the length of her glorious neck to watch, mildly fascinated by the movement of her breasts as she breathed. Her eyes fluttered open, he met her gave. She leaned forward and pressed tusked kisses to his shoulder as she raised herself on top of him.

''I love you.'' He growled into her neck. She abruptly stopped for a moment, before she laughed against his broad shoulder. Her kisses start heading south.

''Don't be such a fool. Of course you don't.''

* * *

His father paced furiously, his footsteps thundered up the his youngest son's spine. Ghorbash was knelt on the floor in the Longhouse while his father snarled and growled back and forth in front of him. The young orc's eyes raised from on the floor to his brother who stood watching the scene his arms behind his back. Burguk was now nearly as tall as his father, and as thick. His brother would not look at him, instead he stared straight ahead, unreadable. Ghorbash dropped his eyes again to the floor in self pity. His brother couldn't save him now.

Someone had found them out, maybe someone had followed them, he didn't know. He and Gnarl had been up to their usual routine in the wasteland, they had returned back to the stronghold their kills slung over their shoulders. Everything had appeared to be normal that was until a deafening bellow of his name from his father had issued from the Longhouse. And that was how he found himself at his father's mercy. His nails dug into his palms, they drew blood, he did not notice. He wondered what had happened to Gnarl, he worried for her desperately. They had grown careless, arrogant enough to return from their 'hunting trips' without any kills, stupid enough to think that no one would notice.

''But on your armour, get your sword.'' Ghorbash blinked up at his father, he didn't seriously expect the young orc to fight him. ''Both of you.'' Ghorbash's eyes widened as his gaze flew to his brother. Burguk looked equal shocked, his eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. ''But Father-'' The older brother began, his words died when his father gave him a furious look. ''Understood Father.'' Burguk said weakly.

* * *

_''Your crimes will be paid in blood. You will fight and only one of you is to return.'' _

Father had not even appeared to be pained when he had issued his sentence. If his father had cut him down himself, it would have been merciful. But this... He supposed that this way Urag would finally be rid of his youngest son for good. They had walked in silence out into the wilderness, side by side they had marched until they had left the stronghold long behind. Only then did they stop and face each other. His brother slowly drawn his sword, as if to delay the moment when they would spill each other's blood.

Burguk held nothing back as he lunged forward, Ghorbash blocked the blow in time. The steel sang as they clashed. It was during this fight that Ghorbash first felt the pain inflicted by a sword. The younger orc smashed the hilt of his blade into his brothers face, blood spattered to the floor as his nose crumpled. Burguk punched a balled fist into his brother's gut, Ghorbash doubled over, winded. Ghorbash screamed as white hot pain suddenly ruptured across the side of his face. Burguk's sword was painted with blood, his face was grim. The younger orc steadied his breath as the pain twisted and pulled at every nerve in him. Ghorbash lunged forward a war cry on his lips, their blades met with a squeal. Malacath must have forsaken him then, as suddenly Ghorbash's sword shattered into a thousand pieces. Burguk wasted no time in viciously kicking his brother to the ground.

Ghorbash watched as Burguk raised the sword above him. He waited for the sword to plunge into his gut, he closed his eyes. His last thought was of Gnarl, he heard the sword drop through the air and a _sstunk._ He flinched at the sound but, strangely, felt no pain erupting from his stomach. He opened his eyes to see his brothers sword impaled into the ground, he turned his head to see his brother watching him with sad eyes.

''You may be a damned idiot, but you are my little brother. Not even Malacath's own wrath could make me kill you.''

Without another word Burguk turned away from his brother, leaving him alone in the wilderness.

_ ''Remember I'll always be your big brother, I'll always be your friend. I'll always be there to protect you.''_

* * *

A group of Imperial soldiers were the ones who found him, they took him with them to Solitude. He stayed in the capital working on the forge, making armour and weapons for the army, after months of blacksmith work they began to train him to become a soldier. They taught him how to use a shield and how to disarm a man. Soon enough he was part of the Imperial army and travelled all across the Empire and saw sights he could have only dreamed of back in his tiny stronghold. A world away from his old life he still found himself wondering what had became of his brother, had he become Chief yet? Hardly a day passed when he didn't think of Gnarl, had she been made to pay with blood like he had, or had his father been merciful and allowed her to live? She was the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep, and the first thing in his mind when he awoke. He missed dearly, if only he could hold her in his arms again. Years passed and Ghorbash became quicker, smarter and stronger. He grew to be larger and thicker than any Nord, his tusks became strong and sharp. He left the Imperial army after nearly ten years of service, tired of the constant routine and strict code of conduct. He returned back to the province of his birth his thirst for adventure wetted but not fully sated.

He wondered aimlessly for a while taking a small job here and there. Soon enough he found himself in the wilds of the Reach. He made no plans to linger, the longer he stayed to more likely it would become that he would find himself winding up the mountain path to his old home. Which was something to be avoided at all costs. His brother was more than likely Chief and if he held to tradition this time, he would not hesitate in killing him. He was making his way down the main road from Markarth when he heard the sound of a fight. His curiosity pricked he followed the sound off the main road and into the wasteland. He should have stayed on the road.

The sight that met him when he found the source of the commotion made his heart stop. A large bear lay very much dead across the road, a woman stood above the fallen beast, a bloody sword in hand. The woman turned at his approach, her skin was a mossy green two proud delicate tusks rose from her full lips. It was Gnarl. She had grown from a girl into a woman. She was more beautiful than he remembered, his heart swelled at the sight of her.

''I haven't seen you before brother orc. What is your name?'' Her voice was guarded, but not unkind. He had changed a lot since his exile ten years ago, he realised and she likely didn't recognise him.

He shouldn't have answered, he should have turned back to the road. But now, being so close to her again, not even Malacath could have turned him away. A smile tugged at his lips. ''Don't you recognise me, Gnarl?'' The woman dropped into a fighting stance, defensive and cautious.

''How do you know my name?'' She snarled.

''You really don't recognise me? It's me, Gnarl. It's Ghorbash.''

Gnarl's brow pinched as she stepped closer to the towering orc, slowly recognition bloomed in her eyes. Her mouth fell open in shock before it twisted into a wide tusked smile. ''Ghorbash! I thought you were dead, but you're - well you're not.'' She crossed the space between them and threw her arms around him, he held her tightly and breathed in her scent. ''You're alive.'' She said into his shoulder, as if she needed to reassure herself that it was indeed her childhood lover, and she had not gone mad. He made a movement to kiss her, old habits died hard it seemed, strangely she turned her head so the kiss landed awkwardly on her cheek. She pulled away from him and did not meet his eye. ''I cannot Ghorbash, I am married.''

His heart broke.

''I don't understand.'' He tried to touch her face, a tender gesture, but she evaded his gesture by turning her head again.

''I though - we all though, you were dead. A lot has changed since you... left.''

''But I love you.''

This time she met his eye, they were cold. ''You're a fool for doing so.''

She was a stranger to him, someone unknown. Ghorbash hadn't cried since he was a child, in that moment he thought he would weaken and begin to sob. But he would not allow himself to show such weakness.

''Come brother, Burguk will be pleased to see you.''

* * *

His brother let him return to the stronghold as if nothing had changed. He even still called him 'little brother', even if it was ironic now. Ghorbash now stood taller than his brother and was thicker and had larger tusks. He had been proud of that, he was finally bigger than his big brother. But his pride over his size and tusks had could not lessen the blows to his heart when he saw Gnarl on his brothers arm. He lived on the fridges of the tribe, spending most of his time out of the stronghold hunting. He distanced himself from his tribe, from his brother, from Gnarl. He didn't even sleep in the Longhouse like all the others, but slept in a hut near the wall of the stronghold. Everyday he thought of leaving and never returning, but the thought of dishonouring his brother and Gnarl again held him back.

When her belly began to swell, heavy with child. He barely spent any time in the stronghold at all, some nights he even slept out in the wilderness. It was in the darkness that he did away with any feelings that he still held for her. He killed it mercilessly, he would not allow himself to love her. He would allow himself to be so weak and foolish again.

For a few years life lazily slid past him in the stronghold. It was when he had recently passed his twenty-eighth winter that something out of the ordinary happened.

A human had approached the gate of the stronghold, and had asked for entrance. Never in all of his years had he heard of a human wanting to enter any stronghold. The sentry had no idea what to do and so had asked the Chief what to do, after much deliberation the Chief himself had climbed to the top of the sentry post and given the human the task of finding the Forgemaster's Fingers, a relic more myth and legend than anything else. The human, a woman, he had been told had accepted the quest and had gone off on her way.

Not one of the orcs expected her to return. After a few days the stronghold soon forgot about the intruding little human woman, and life returned back to it's normal monotony. That was until the woman returned again, the fabled Forgemaster's Fingers in hand. Burguk had been presented with the gauntlets and had named the woman an honorary orc, that day she wondered from the forge to the wise woman's hut. The orcs treated her with cautious kindness, she was something strange to them, unnerving even. Most had never even talked to a human before, whenever a human was met during the hunt neither party spoke to each other. The woman treated them with respect and kindness, something very rare indeed. Ghorbash had seen how cruel men could be towards his kind outside of the protection of the stronghold, they were considered little more than beasts. And were never treated as equals with men.

Ghorbash himself avoided her, much like he did to the rest of the tribe. It was late, probably past midnight and a chill had crept into the air. Ghorbash didn't feel the cold as he practised against the dummy, he hacked at the manikin until all of the straw had bleed from the woven skin onto the floor. So engrossed in his training, so ensnared in venting his many frustrations, he did not hear the human woman approach him until it was too late.

''It's a little late to be maiming dummies don't you think?'' He was so startled by her sudden approach he dropped his axe, making him swear loudly. Shame and embarrassment was hot in him while he stooped down to pick up the weapon. He placed the axe back in the loop at his waist and scowled down at the woman. She was dwarfed by him, the light from a nearby torch explained why, she was a breton. She worn strange leather armour with many buckles and pouches. Her skin was dark, the colour of fresh clay from much time in the sun. Her auburn hair was short and windswept, falling down to her shoulder. Dark war paint delicately adorned above and bellow her eyelids, her eyes were dark, probably brown he couldn't tell, or much care. Her eyes were unnerving, she looked at him the same way a wolf would.

''What I do is my own business, breton.'' He growled back.

He was the largest orc she had even encountered on her travels, not that she had encountered many. He stood easily two feet taller than her and was far,far wider. Stood only in a pair of hide breeches she could see the wide plains of his chest. Not one slither of fat clung to the expertly sculpted muscle of his chest, his dark skin was taut over the thickness of muscle. Her eyes rolled over the light dusty of black downy hair on his chest to the thick squat muscle of his neck, up further to two large tusks jutting out between fat dark lips. His nose was squashed into the skull of his face at an odd angle, it had been broken many times. He snorted and growled steam while he stared at her. Cold flint stared her down at her, beneath a brow set in furious scowl. He looked at her as if she had insulted him by even talking to him. ''What are you doing here, breton? You don't belong here.''

''Well I couldn't sleep an-''

''That's not what I meant.'' He said gruffly, his voice thick with annoyance. ''What are you doing _here_, in a stronghold.''

She shrugged her shoulders. ''I was curious.'' The flippancy of her response and her apparent honesty made his scowl deepen.

''Haven't you learnt from cats that curiosity kills fools.''

She gave him a strange look, as if she was surprised by his response. ''I've never owned a cat, so no.''

He didn't even know why he was still talking to this fool, he was just wasting his time talking to her.

With a guttural snort he began to march past the small human . ''Hey! Wait a minute! I wasn't done talking to you!'' She hollered after him. He heard her light footfalls behind him, a small grin twitched at his lips, she had to run to keep up with him. He felt something light brush against his bicep, he made a motion to bat it away thinking it was just an insect. Imagine his surprise when his large heavy hand collided with warm skin and soft bone, a hand. _Her _hand. He whirled on her in an instance, snarling and furious. Why would she let him be? Wisps of fog fluttered from her mouth as she regained her breath. ''I-I said I wa-wasn't done t-talking to y-you.'' She said gasping for breath. He didn't know if she was brave or just plain stupid to keep hounding him. Her hand still rested lightly on his bicep. Stupid, she was stupid.

''Then be quick.''

She gave him an awkward grimace and finally dropped her hand from his arm. ''I wanted to talk to you, you seem more interesting than the others.''

His scowl did not relax despite how baffling she was. ''There is nothing interesting about me, little breton.''

''That's not true, they say you... left once. That's interesting.''

''It seems we have different opinions on exile, woman.''

She smirked slightly at his response, that unnerving look was back in her eye for a moment. ''They say you travelled all over the Empire.''

''With the Legion, yes.'' He replied shortly.

''Do you miss it?'' She asked.

''What?''

''Travelling, the freedom?''

He raised a horned brow at her. ''Why do you care woman?'' He asked gruffly.

Her lips pulled into a small grimace. ''Because if you do, I was wondering whether you wanted to come with me, when I leave.''

That answer was unexpected. He had been waiting for a reason to enable him to leave the stronghold for years, and suddenly this woman appears from nowhere and gives him a golden opportunity to leave. But still the thought of dishonouring his tribe made him reluctant. ''I could not leave and dishonour my brother again, woman.''

Her brow lowered in obvious disappointment, something that surprised him. ''I could pay you.''

He snorted in disgust, his eyes hard with insult. ''Do you think my honour can be bought so cheaply?'' He growled.

''I could fight you. If I wi-'''

For the first time in a long time Ghorbash laugh, properly laughed. The sudden booming sound made the little woman jump, slowly her lips turned into a smile. ''So you do know how to laugh. You're not a grump ass all of the time.''

His laughter subsided and his face became stony and grim again. ''Why are you desperate to have me join you, little breton?''

She gave him a wolfish grin, her stubby white teeth showing. ''Because you are...different.'' There was again that flash of wildness in her eyes as she eyed him. ''And besides you cave in skulls far better than I can.''

''Then hire yourself a self sword.''

She shook her head in disgruntled annoyance, she was acting like a child who had been denied a sweet roll. She sighed heavily ''If you change your mind, I'll be leaving at dawn.'' He watched her, bemused, as she walk off into the night.

* * *

Ghorbash was sat by the main gate long before dawns light started to fill the sky. Dressed in a motley mix of fur and hide armour, his axe strapped to his hip and his shield and bow on his back. He had lain in his hut, thinking over the little breton's offer long into the night. He had weighed the pros against the cons, and after much soul searching and deliberation, he had come to the conclusion that he would leave the stronghold with the human. Soon enough he heard gently footfalls, looking up he saw the breton woman stood above him, looking pleased, but strangely not surprised, to see him waiting for her.

''So you changed your mind, orc?''

He grunted in the affirmative. ''I realised I was talking in circles like some wise woman. You have my axe, woman.''

They set off down the mountain path in the early morning light. Ghorbash couldn't help himself looking back one last time before the stronghold vanished from their sights.

''I never asked your name orc.''

''It's Ghorbash.'' He grunted.

''My mother called my Faadia.'' She said while giving him that wolfish smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Look an update! I'm not dead! Woo!

I have a feeling people are more interested in the next update of FBP (which will be up very soon btw), but I wanted to update this first 'cause it's been waiting for an update for _far_ longer than FBP...

I also want to say big thank you for all of the favourites, alerts and reviews! For a first chapter that's just an amazing amount of support, totally unexpected and greatly appreciated. So, thanks :)

* * *

The Brigand and the Beast

**Chapter 2**

They travelled south, down into the high reaching pine forests of Falkreath, the smell of firs and blossoms thick in their mouths and noses. How unlike the Reach this place was, the place of his birth was barren and rocky only tough twisted things sprouted and the earth was dry and dusty. But here everything was blooming, green and lush. Ghorbash hated it. He hated the constant stretch of green both above and below him, hated the stench of sappy trees and moss, hated the constant buzz of insects, hated the sting of fallen needles that always managed to bite him whenever he sat down. His lips were constantly curled tightly around his tusks in a frown of displeasure, not only for his hatred of the land but also because it was slowly dawning on him that he missed the stronghold. Though he hoped that the feeling of loss that weighed in his limbs was more to do with the disparity of the landscape to his home than to do with him missing his brother, or Gnarl...

He and the breton had not shared many words since they had begun on the road, they only really talked when they camped down for the night, and even then the topic never strayed from dinner or who would take first watch. The lack of conversation did not seem to trouble either of them, however. When they were on the road the breton was more often than not far ahead of the orc, sprinting ahead into the wilderness or vanishing around corners or hillocks, while the orc was forced to chase the sound of her footfalls. Even if she had stayed at a slower pace he likely wouldn't had been able to hold much in the way of a conversation, his years of self segregation in the stronghold had made him slow and apathetic when it came to talking at length with others.

He had made camp between the feet of the towering trees. Leaving his companion back down at the great lake a distance away, the water swelling and pulling at her thighs while she waited for fish to rise from the murky bed. Bow string taut in her expert grip, waiting to loose an arrow. He coaxed a small flickering ebbing and swell spark of light between his thick fingers, as the spark bubbled and flickered, reaching and devouring at the wood lain for it, it lengthened the shadows of the towering trees. Between the feet of the trees, their long needles cut and slithered the light, it might as well of been night and not sunset. The pines and firs stood shoulder to shoulder, their dark needles whispering secrets as a gust of wind combed through the needles. He could have sworn he saw some dark shape shifting in the misty darkness deep within the legs of the trees. He peeled back the layer of needles from the earth with swipes of his boot to lay his bedroll (the bloody needles even managed to stick him through the fabric). His skin prickled as he swore he saw some sharp eyes, milky and bright watching him, he blinked and they were gone. It must have been the smell of pines making him sick, poisoning his mind. All the same, he did not look through the trees again while he waited for the breton to return.

After sometime from the growing gloom of twilight Faadia stepped, the softened leather armour clung to her legs dark and tight, in her dark hands dead fish hung. Swinging lazily from side to side, mouths agape eyes wide, as if the moment of death had been a surprise.

The hour was late, not far off midnight. The fire that he had built smouldered between them, crackling and snapping into the night, spiting sparks into the air. The bones of the fishes that she had snared from the lake were scattered at their feet, fragments of soft flesh and small bone were still being pushed from their teeth and gums by their tongues. His axe sat in his lap while he diligently cleaned it, keeping his head low and his motion constant, he raised his eyes away from the weapon in his lap to the breton. She was sat on the other side of the low burning fire, watching him. Watching the constant movement on his arm, watching the slight flex of his muscles, watching the small and certain movements of his fingers. Her eyes smouldering through the flames, they reflected the licking shifting light of the fire. She looked at him the same way she had done in the stronghold, she looked at his the same way a predator would, it made his hair stand on end. She blinked quite suddenly, as if breaking herself from some thought, that hungry searching, unsettling leer, vanishing. He found himself gently releasing a breath that he hadn't known he had held.

It was his turn to watch her as she stretched upwards, her arms above her head making shapes in the air, her joints popping softly. She sighed heavily as she slouched back to the earth. ''I need a good tot of mead.'' She grumbled more to herself than to the orc. ''And a soft bed, and a hot bath.''

He ran the pad of his thumb over the point of the axe, blood did not welt from his skin until after some pressure. His brow lowered, they were also in need of a smith's forge, it appeared. ''Agreed,'' he rumbled ''I can smell you from here.'' Faadia made a loud nose through her nose, he didn't know whether out annoyance or amusement. Ghorbash pressed his bleeding thumb between his lips. ''The guards can probably smell us from their posts. Rattling in their breeches, the poor sods. They must wonder what kind of beasts are able to produce such a smell.'' She smirked to herself as she stared into the the pit of the fire, her grin stained orange from the light. They did not talk again for sometime after that, the only thing filling the silence was the little fire that snapped and spat at the wood that it was fed.

It was shortly after they decided to call it a night, as she kicked the white hissing sticks apart, snuffing out the light plunging them into darkness. That was when in the distance the howl of a wolf climbed into the night sky, the breton turned her head to the sound. He sat watching her, curious. Although the only light was from the moon, and it was weakened as it fought through the pines. The light hit her face just enough for him to discern her expression, her brow was drawn and tight, she looked...scared...

''Do you fear wolves, woman?'' His voice scratched low. She turned back to face him, the side of her face dusted with the moons touch.

''Would you call me a coward?''

''No, I would call you a fool.'' He grunted, just for a moment her eyes flickered with something...wild. ''Only the weak and ill fear those wild hounds.''

Her boot crushed and dragged the remaining glowing white sticks into the dirt. She looked down at him, crouched bulking muscle, tusked and scowling. Like some child's nightmare monster. Her stubby blunt teeth appeared as she smirked ''Then it is you, Orc, who is the fool.''

* * *

It was her turn to take the first watch that night. Ghorbash lay in his bedroll, the smell of the pines keeping him awake. The camp was silent, unusual when Faadia took the first watch. In the few days that he had spent with the woman he had learned that she never remained still for long, if at all. Always restless, always moving. He would fall asleep to the sound of her feet kicking the dust from the earth, or the slight creaking of her armour as she fidgeted. Even in her sleep the breton would toss and turn throughout the night, muttering and mumbling nonsense. But that night she was silent and still.

He turned in the cocooning warmth of the bedroll to face her. Though the fire had been stamped out he could still make her out by the moons weak light. She was sat on an fallen tree, facing the forest bow in lap, at the ready if anything came storming through the trees. He watched her back, bleached silver by the moonlight. He knew nothing of this woman, only her name. Maybe it had been foolish to follow this woman who he did not know away, from his home, away from his brother. For not the first time since he had left he wondered how his brother had reacted when he discovered he had left. He imagined his brother's face falling with disappointment and his gut twisted. He should have at least said goodbye, and not pissed off suddenly with some strange woman without so much as a word. What a great brother he was. His thoughts of guilt and of his brother kept him awake for longer than he wanted, but eventually his muscles and limbs became heavy, his breathing slowed and his eye lids dropped.

* * *

It was the sharp biting of scrabbling dull nails that prised open his eyes previously glued shut with sleep. Her dusty hand was hot on his naked arm as she pulled him without a wood into the trees. He felt the scratch and pull of pines on all sides as she pulled him in, her hand dropped from his skin leaving him cold as she fell to a crouch further in the undergrowth. He dropped low in front of her, his vision obscured by needles and pines. Her breath was hot on his shoulder, the front of her leather armour pressed to his broad back. Before he could snort all sorts of curses at her for dragging him from his bed she pressed her small hand over his mouth. For a moment he froze, her touch startling him, for a moment all he could taste was the salt of sweat and grit of dirt on her fingers. But the moment passed and his large fist curled tightly around her thin wrist, ripping her hand from his mouth, snarling and huffing hot breath in anger. Suddenly there came a great roar from the trees, it shook the earth and made the trees shuddering.

The fear set into his bones as from the darkness came the crashing and shattering of branches, followed by the snorting snarling growling of some great beast. Its footfalls were loud as its paws dragged along the ground through the pines that littered the floor. They could hear the huffing of the beast as it chased it's breath. It's wet pants were long and deep, it painted the image of something huge. Ghorbash pressed back into the firs, pushing them both in deeper as silently as possible. Hearts in their mouths, lungs tight.

The beast's steps were heavy and slow as it padded around the camp in a slow motion, wet snuffling was heard as it nosed through their belongs. There came the sound of the dragging of a bedroll as it furrowed in the darkness. Ghorbash's skin was cold, hairs on end. Beneath his large fingers he could feel Faadia pulse throbbing and jolting at every sound that came from the darkness. Then his stomach dropped as those slow dragging shuddering steps sounded again, the ice set in his bones when he realised the beast was coming toward their hiding place, snuffling and snorting at the air.

As those loud large footfalls drew ever closer Ghorbash held his breath, he reached back and pressed his large paw over the breton's mouth and nose. Her nostrils flared against his fingers, short and fast. With his other hand the Orc reached around his back, without a sound, to grip on the hilt of the dagger he kept there. It offered them little hope of saving them against whatever stood through the pines, but it would not be a shameful death to die with naked steel flashing. Maybe Malacath would take pity.

The pines around them seemed to bend into the beast's breaths, there came the crunching and snapping of foliage under great paws. Ghorbash slid the dagger from his back, the little good it would do he was resolute in the fact that whatever monster it was it would bleed before he did. He widened his stance excruciatingly slowly, so as not to make a sound. His widened stance built some kind of shielding wall of muscles and meat behind which the little human crouched shaking, her breath was reassuring against his oily hand, hot fast and constant. If the beast was to get him first, be it with teeth or claw, if nothing else his death would give her a chance to run.

The beast pressed forward slowly, the pines could be heard scratching and pulling against it. He could smell it's foul breath through the stench of pines, as it breathed deeply both at the air and the earth but paces away. Ghorbash squeezed the tiny blade tighter, he could feel the blood pumping fast in his ears. Ghorbash rolled his weight to the balls of his feet and waited. Waited for death to burst through the last few feet of pines and rip them in two.

Suddenly in the distance peace of the night a wolf's howl flew up into the sky, snatching at the moon. The pines twisted and dragged against fur as the beast turned to the distant cry. For a moment there was tense and heavy silence, filled with nothing but the reeking stench of pines, fish, fear and sweat. Then slowly, slowly the beast twisted and turned in the thick darkness, crushing and snapping greenery, long clawed paws dragged slowly across dirt away from their hiding place. Neither dare move, breath nor think as the beast's steps because faster and grew slowly distant. It was not until the sound of the beast's lolloping devastation of the forest grew to nothing on the wind did they dare to move, to breath.

Ghorbash dropped his hand from the breton's face, at once her gulping breaths shuddered hot against his ear. He drew the little blade back in its sheath as he stood slowly, muscles quaking with adrenalin. They stepped from their hiding place cautiously, the short walk was made much easier, the pines having been twisted and ripped into a path thanks to the beast's bulk. The camp was in disarray, their packs open and their contents scattered across the dirty, their bedrolls uprooted and squashed between nearby tree roots. While Faadia gathered her belongs back into her satchel Ghorbash found his eyes trained on the earth, there large long clawed paw prints stained the earth.

''What do you think it was?'' He asked as he too gathered his belongs back into his pack. Faadia shook the dust from her bedroll and threw it unceremoniously to the ground. ''Don't know.'' She grunted out shortly. Engrossed in his studying of the tracks the Orc looked up to the thudding sound of Faadia falling into her bedroll. ''It's your turn to take watch.''

''You think you can sleep?''

''I can certainly try, I have found myself in worse situations.'' Ghorbash snorted softly to that as he stooped to pick up his axe. He sat himself heavily on the fallen tree she had but hours before occupied.

''Let us hope that you don't dream of some great beast coming to snatch you in the middle of the night, then.''

Its was the breton's turn to snort ''I must be thankful then that I do not dream.''

They slipped again into that silence that always accompanied them. Hours must have past as the sky was beginning to burn with a lighter colour. While the stars twinkled on brightly above his head Ghorbash sat in the camp, keeping watch. He idly whittled at a piece of wood between his great fingers, his brow was lowered in concern. His eyes not on the wood nor the blade in his grip but they instead focused on the breton woman wrapped in her bedroll. Normally she was always moving in her sleep, like some restless fat fisted babe. But tonight she was as still as the distant stars and as silent as the moon.

* * *

I hate how short this chapter looks compared with the last one, but this was a shorter chapter than they will normally by (at least I think...) 'cause its more of an intermediate chapter... Next chapter Faadia and her Orc companion will reach Falkreath and stuffs gonna go down. And stuff is always fun. If you can be bothered please leave a review it's always great to hear what you think. Until next time TTFN!


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